smaller moments, out of focus and vague, but simple and intimate, honest maybe awkward
just thinking about the past and time shared on rooftops and under bridges, setting off fireworks and getting caught
with champagne in my mouth, with a song on the tip of my tongue
a release of breath, a minute before morning
rambunctious and ridiculous, inspired and overreaching : knowing how to go too far
and not looking back, but over the shoulder, out the window, laying in the backseat on the road from nashville to asheville the first time I heard Astral Weeks and remembering how it felt to climb up a parallel tree when it was cold in Murfreesboro and on the way home, the wheels that spin, the rain that pours, the foggy lights and fingers cold, you let Mirah say what you couldn't and I ran wild through the mountains of East Tennessee for you, living life as a story I could tell you on the phone as I sat in the backseat of my car, shivering, fingers cold, foggy lights again, but above, the streetlamps in the parking lot, the fields stretching for miles all around
I decided to come back home.
drunk most nights, with Germans on the couches and a Swede in Colby's bedroom
he was a hermit for months
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